


Alternate Reality

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Series: Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an alternate end to Reality for those who thought Jim and Rafe should have a chance.<br/>This story is a sequel to Reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternate Reality

**Author's Note:**

> You guys are going to hate me for this one. I was asked by a few people what would have happened if Jim and Rafe had actually worked something out, and this is what I came up with, It ain't happy, but I make no apologies. 

## Alternate Reality

by Lucy Hale

* * *

If anyone had told me over the last two months that Jim Ellison was going to come on to me, I would have probably punched them in the face. 

It had been two months since our little drunken escapade in his loft, and we hadn't said five words to each other since then. My life had been reduced to work and quiet nights in my apartment. I was trapped in reflection, caught between wishing nothing had ever happened, and remembering that one night with Jim. 

I'm pathetic. I've come to accept that about myself. I knew it even before that night, just knowing I had put myself on a celibacy kick for months before just from longing over Jim. Now that he'd fucked me and hated it, I was still longing. 

Maybe I don't have the best self-esteem in the world. Who knows? 

But that's where I was the day Jim came to my desk. 

I'm not sure how long he was standing there before I noticed him. He wasn't looking down at me, and he didn't say anything. I finally glanced up and saw him there, and literally dropped my pencil out of surprise. 

"Jim? What's up?" I kept my voice nice and casual. He looked like it wouldn't take much to spook him. 

He glanced down at me, as though surprised I was there. "Rafe. Um. Can we talk about something?" 

My eyebrows shot up. A hundred different 'talks' crossed my mind, but from his demeanor I knew it couldn't be good. "Sure. Talk away." 

"Not now. Not...you know. Not here. Later." 

My curiosity was definitely piqued now. I couldn't help but reflect that those was the most words we'd said to each other since That Night. "Okay. You want to meet somewhere later?" 

"Yeah." Jim swallowed. 

I almost grinned and made a joke about how we seemed to be making a date, but I held it in. Jim was actually talking to me, for whatever reason, and I wasn't about to mess that up. "How about Mallory's?" 

"Good. Seven." Jim barely met my eyes, and didn't wait for my nod before taking off down the room towards other people. 

He was acting scared, and it was beginning to scare me. What would Jim want to talk to me about that could be so bad? 

You know the first thing that occurred to me? Knowing Jim, it was probably an absurd thought, but I remembered that night eight weeks ago, and four letters entered my mind. AIDS. 

Straight-laced Jim Ellison? AIDS? It didn't really make sense, but once that thought invaded my crazy little brain, it didn't leave. I mean, why else would he want to see me alone? He sure as hell didn't want to make a date with me, and let's face it -- we didn't have what you would call a casual kind of relationship. 

I was distracted the rest of the day, but time passed, as time does, and eventually it was seven and I was sitting outside Mallory's, looking at Jim's truck with trepidation. 

I got out of the car, crossed to the doors, and went in. The place was nearly deserted, but that wasn't surprising. Wednesday night wasn't usually a jumping evening. 

Jim had a drink in front of him, and was sitting in the darkest booth in the darkest corner of the place. 

I tried not to be offended. Following his example, I went to the bar and got myself a coke. I might need alcohol before the evening was over, but right now I wasn't going to risk it. 

I sat myself down, and when he looked up at me he was still nervous. "Hey." 

"Hey." I stared at him in silence. I was just waiting for the guy to tell me he'd given me some funky disease. 

"Look, Rafe..." He stopped, took a sip of his drink, and tried again. "Brian." 

Oh, shit. Brian? I was in trouble here. "What's wrong?" 

He steeled himself. "It's about that night." 

I had no doubt. 

"Look, you got...I mean..." He blew out a breath. "Shit. I'm sorry. This is strange for me." 

I smiled at that faintly. "I can tell." 

" I was drunk that night. You weren't." He met my eyes, almost in challenge. 

I nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess so. What does that have to--" 

He held up a hand. "Let me talk." 

I shut up obediently, wondering all of the sudden if he was going to accuse me of raping him or something. 

That was just what I needed to make my life better. 

"It's just that I don't really remember much of what happened." He went on. 

"You want a play by play?" I asked with a smile, hoping to lighten the air a little bit, just to make sure he wasn't about to press charges. 

He met my eyes. "Yeah." 

I almost swallowed my tongue. "What?" 

"I can't remember what happened. I know that morning when I...I wasn't thinking. I've never woken up...like that. Before. You know?" 

"Jim, calm down. Just tell me what you want here." 

Jim looked down at the drink. He sloshed it around thoughtfully for a minute, quiet. 

I just let him think. There was something bothering Jim, and I hated that. It occurred to me that he was coming to me to help ease some demons haunting him, and if we got this talked out, maybe things would be better between us. I didn't harbor any delusions about a relationship, but it would be nice to be able to say hi to the man that I was sure I loved without him flinching. 

"I want to do it again." 

It took me a long time to compute those words to the point where they made sense. Even then, I wasn't sure I had heard it right. "What?" 

Jim looked up finally, meeting my eyes. He gave a tiny little crooked smile that got my heart pounding in my chest. "I remember...flashes. I've had a few dreams about..." He shrugged. "I want to try it again. Sober. Just to know..." 

I just stared. A minute later I realized my eyes were drying out, and I blinked. "Jim? How many of those have you had?" 

He glanced down at the drink and grinned. "It's just water." 

"Oh." I didn't know what to say. 

He let out a breath in the silence. "Let me know if I'm out of line here. I'm not used to propositioning people like this. You used to like me, right? Maybe we could...I don't know. Go out." 

"Are you serious?" 

He must have been able to see the shock in my eyes, and he stayed quiet, nodding, letting me think. 

I shook my head slowly. "Why?" 

He hesitated. "You want the truth?" 

"I think so." 

"I can't get you out of my mind," he said simply. 

All of the sudden, this made complete sense. I was dreaming. It was a long, complicated, extremely detailed dream. I had dreamed eight hours of police work, and I was dreaming this now. 

"Look, I know it's got to be hard for you to hear. I've been an asshole the last few weeks. I just wasn't sure how to handle any of this. My entire life I was a certain way. I was raised a certain way." He sat back, looking fairly relaxed now that he had said what he wanted and I was still there, listening to him. "I never even imagined myself waking up next to another man. You know?" 

I nodded. 

"That's why I freaked. I wasn't sure how to handle it. Since then..." He met my eyes again, awkward but determined to keep going. "I haven't stopped thinking about the whole thing. I want to know what it could be like." 

I was blown away. I just couldn't think of a damn word to say. 

He met my eyes across the table, and flashed a smile, and it was like the last two months never even happened. 

* * *

Not much happened that night. We talked for a long time, just considering possibilities and making sure we were clear on this. 

Jim was more open with me than he had ever been, but he was still halfway towards panic. Every time the waitress came over, he'd clam up in mid-conversation, even if we were talking about work. If someone came and sat too close, he'd glare their way and speak in a whisper until they left. 

He was tense and uncomfortable. We left alone that first night, and I headed home with my thoughts in a complete whirl. 

It was the greatest thing that could ever have happened to me. Jim wanted me. He wanted to see if a relationship could work. He wanted this to work as much as I did. We were going to take it slow and steady, and see what happened. 

He was sober, and he wanted me. Me. Quiet, stupid, hopeless romantic and spineless geek that I am. Jim Ellison wanted me. 

We did take it slow. So slow that I didn't really see him alone until that weekend. He set Saturday night aside just for us. I don't know what he told Blair, but when I showed up at the loft, the Observer was nowhere in sight. 

And Jim didn't seem to have any intention of taking me out anywhere. There was a table set, a full meal waiting, and wine on the table. 

It brought a huge smile to my face. He had cooked for me. 

He saw my smile and returned it. "I wanted to do something nice." 

"It's definitely nice." I wasn't lying. It smelled great, looked great. Of course, if he had two McDonald's burgers on paper plates waiting for us, I'd still love it. 

I was so far gone for this guy. He had screwed me, dropped me on my ass, and then not spoken to me for months, but it didn't matter. I wanted him to love me, too. 

We had a nice little dinner. We didn't say all that much, but I didn't care. I was lost, just looking across a table at Jim. I loved it. Really. 

After dinner, what can I say? He had said he wanted to try the sex again, and he wasn't the kind of man to beat about the bush. 

I'm not going to go into detail. Let's just say that when he was drunk and desperate and probably didn't even know who it was he was fucking, I thought it was incredible. This time around, sober, with me, looking into my eyes and taking his time to do it right, there were fireworks. 

Yeah, corny. Fireworks. Earth moving. My world changing. I know how it sounds, but hell. It happened. From that day on, Jim was the sum of my entire universe. I was living as his lover, like I'd always wanted. 

I was also living by his rules suddenly. 

I had overheard Blair joking around about Jim's house rules, and suddenly I was living by a new set of rules. Jim was very clear about how this was going to work. 

Under no circumstances, ever, was I to let anyone know anything about us. Ever. That was the Big Rule. 

The others were small, but just as set in stone. I wasn't supposed to call him. I couldn't pull him aside at work, I couldn't talk to him any more than we had been talking, if anyone else could see us. 

If he wanted me, he'd call. I just had to sit at home and wait to hear from him. 

Did I mind? You must be kidding. I sat there night after night, and jumped when he called. My master's voice, I would say to myself as a joke. I would meet him in some quiet place, and we'd have some pretty incredible sex, and I'd go home and wait for another call. 

It was good. I know it doesn't sound wonderful, but I enjoyed it. We didn't do much in the way of talking, not after that first night at the bar, but I figured Jim wasn't a big talker. 

We were lovers. That was enough for me. It was enough that Jim thought I was worthy to be his first male partner. 

* * *

As time went on, I noticed a little bit of a change in Jim. He was a very private person, to the point of paranoia, and it began showing more and more. The calls became less frequent, and sometimes if we met somewhere besides my house or the loft, he would all of the sudden tell me to go home for the night. 

He was getting spooked. 

At the station, it started showing. He made a point to not say a word to me, and it got inconvenient. If he had to pass along something from Simon, he would hunt down Henri and pass the message, even if I was right there. If I had something to tell him, same thing. If he saw me coming he would make an ungraceful exit, and I'd have to find Blair. 

I was getting...I don't want to say disillusioned. Anxious, maybe. I was ready for more. I wanted us to take another step, get a little more serious, but it seemed like we were already drifting apart. 

I wanted to be able to go home to someone. I wanted to be able to fall asleep in his arms and wake up beside him. I wanted to be able to talk about my day. I wanted him to listen to me, to ask questions, to care about what I had to say. 

I wanted to be worthy to be that kind of lover for Jim. 

I tried. I really did. I tried to make myself more interesting. I would leave some books lying around my house, some things we might have in common, hoping he'd notice and ask about it. Hoping we could have some conversations. 

Unfortunately, he wasn't the most observant guy. For the best detective in Major Crimes, he didn't notice a lot about the world around him. 

* * *

We had gone out for a month before I heard something I wasn't supposed to hear. Something he wasn't supposed to say. 

We were in bed, like always, and he was driving into me. It was hot and fast, just the way he liked it, and I was getting quite a bit of enjoyment out of it myself. 

Then I heard a name through those grunts behind me. And it wasn't mine. 

I didn't stop moving, I didn't tense up. I let Jim come, and when he was off of me and pulling on his clothes, I just sat in bed and stared at him. 

He noticed my eyes on him. "What?" 

I debated staying quiet, but got up enough courage to talk, looking down at the sheets. "You called me Blair." 

He was quiet. When I glanced up at him, his face was hard. "You must have imagined it." 

I hesitated. "I don't think I did." 

"Of course you did. I wouldn't have said that." 

"Look, I understand. It happens sometimes. I just wanted you to--" 

"It didn't happen!" 

I looked up again in shock. He was absolutely furious. 

"You heard wrong, Rafe. That's all there is to it." He finished jerking his shirt on and headed for the door without another word. 

I didn't hear from him for another week. 

The next time he came over, I had finally decided I would have to take matters into my own hands. He and I had to come to some kind of agreement. If not, we at least had to talk to each other. 

He showed up at my house, and barely even grunted out my name in greeting before he had me up against the wall, trying to suck my lungs out through my lips. 

God, when he touched me...when he kissed me with so much passion, nothing else mattered. Nothing at all. 

But that wasn't all their was to a relationship. And I wanted more. 

I managed to control myself enough to push him back. By then, we were both panting. 

"What's wrong?" he demanded. 

"Nothing," I said quickly. I looked at his flushed face, impassioned eyes, and I just wanted to dive back in. But I didn't. "I just wanted to go a little slower tonight." 

"Slower?" He blinked, looking like he'd never heard the word in his life. "Rafe, I've had a hell of a day. I don't need this." 

"I'm sorry," I said automatically. "But look, I just think we should talk." 

His eyebrows shot up, and he spoke before he could stop himself. "I don't come over here to talk." 

I drew in a sharp breath. That hurt, a lot. "Yeah," I said quietly. "I know. But I think--" 

"Look, is this about last time? The name thing?" 

"No. Well, kind of." 

"I told you, you heard wrong." 

"Jim, I just want--" 

"Are we going to do this?" He was still right up against me, and he ground himself into my groin without much subtlety. 

I was hard as a rock, and I wanted Jim every hour of every day, but I forced myself not to respond to his moves. "I want to talk about this," I said firmly. 

Jim jerked away from me, blowing out a breath as he paced further into my living room. 

"Look, I don't mean to be an asshole, but...we should figure out what we both want here." I was staying calm. I ran a hand through my hair \-- a nervous gesture I hated but always did anyway -- and I couldn't stop the hand from shaking. 

I was an inch away from driving him out. I knew that, and I didn't want it to happen. I wanted Jim. I loved Jim. Silent or not. Even if he didn't love me, I loved him and I couldn't imagine him doing anything that would make me stop loving him. 

He made me feel like shit, but I loved him. He showed up whenever he wanted, took out some kind of macho aggravation by fucking me, and then left without so much as a word. I was feeling like a rented whore, but I loved him. God help me, I still do. Even after everything. 

I was ready to take it all back, to just shut up and put out, or whatever that expression is, when he turned back to me. 

The look in his eyes was almost sad. Sad and something else I couldn't identify. "So this is over? Is that what you're saying?" 

"I'm not saying anything like that," I said instantly. "I just want us to talk. Just have one meaningful conversation." 

Jim faced me squarely, looked me dead in the eye, and just shook his head. "I'm around talk all day. I get talk from Sandburg twenty-four seven, I don't want it from you." 

I knew I wasn't going to like his answer to this next question, but I had to ask it. "What _do_ you want from me?" 

"I want this." He gestured between him and me vaguely. 

"You want sex." 

"Yeah," he snapped back. "I don't think I ever failed to make that known. Look, Rafe, don't make it sound so bad. You wanted me, I wanted...I wanted it too." 

He couldn't even say it was _me_ he wanted. Just _it_. 

That hit me like a physical punch. I knew then that I was nothing in his eyes. To me, that made me nothing, period. It was as easy as that. If I couldn't have some positive place in Jim Ellison's world, what was the point? 

Pathetic. 

"I don't want talk." 

"I do," I said quietly. 

Jim's eyebrows shot up. His muscled arms crossed in front of his chest, and he studied me. "But I don't. So what now?" 

Even as he asked it, I knew the answer. What now? Now I would take him back to my room and let him fuck me. And I'd never mention this again. As much as I wanted a real relationship, even this gross parody was better than nothing. 

But there was one thing I had to say first, and I could only send a quick prayer to the heavens that it wouldn't shatter this relationship that I had already cracked. "I don't want to be Blair's substitute, Jim." 

His eyes snapped towards me, blue orbs flashing red fire. "Dammit, Rafe, I told you--" 

"My name is Brian." I don't know why that came out, but it did. Somewhere deep inside of me, there was anger. Anger at myself for thinking I was lucky Jim was treating me like shit. "You can at least use my first name." 

Jim grimaced. "You want me to go?" 

"I didn't--" 

"No, that's obviously what you want. You're saying things that you know are going to drive me away, you obviously don't want this anymore." 

"Jim, come on. I--" 

"After all this shit, you're telling me to leave." Jim shook his head in disbelief. "You want me, Rafe. I see the way you look at me. I've seen it since the beginning. I'm giving you what you want, right?" 

"No!" I hated this. I hated confrontations. I think somewhere inside me I'm just a shy awkward kid, and I hate this kind of tension. But enough was enough. "I want you to use my first name. I want you to say hello to me before you rip my clothes off. I want you to want more than sex." 

"Christ, _Brian_!" Jim snapped, coming closer to me. "You sound like a fucking woman." 

"Well, you know what? I feel like a cheap hooker. Except you don't even have to leave money on my dresser, do you? You pay me by shutting your eyes and wishing I was Blair fucking Sandburg!" 

You want to know what he did then? 

He hit me. 

I guess I really must have been acting like a woman, because he didn't punch me. He slapped me. Oh, it hurt, I won't lie. The man is strong, and I guess that last remark made him mad. He didn't even stop to think. He raised his arm, and backhanded me across the face. 

I stumbled, but I didn't fall, and I'll thank God every day for the rest of my life that He spared me that one last dignity. 

I did the cliched woman thing. I raised my hand and put it on my cheek, feeling heat coming off skin that was probably dark red already. I stood for a moment, in shock, blinking at him. 

He dropped his arm, looking equally surprised. He looked down at his hand as if it was attached to someone else's body, and then looked up at me. "Shit." 

That summed it up for me, too, so I didn't say anything. 

"Rafe...Brian...shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I don't know why I did that." He seemed at last a bit humbled, and he took an awkward step towards me, reaching for my hand to get a look at the bruising flesh. 

I took a step back, still in shock, before he could touch me. 

He swallowed, and his hand lowered again. "I really am sorry. Really. It's been a bad day. It's been..." 

His eyes met mine, and the way he was looking at me, two minutes ago I would have forgiven him for anything. But I realized something right then. 

I loved him. I would never stop. I would have put up with a lot from Jim Ellison. I would have put up with the meaningless sex, the rough treatment, the silence, the hostility. I would have put up with him calling me Blair every night. Because I loved him so much, I would have put up with anything. 

Anything but that. 

It was a nice, gift-wrapped little epiphany. 

He reached for me again, and I grabbed his arm and knocked it back to his side. "Get out." 

He blinked, startled. "What? Hey, I said I was sorry." 

"Get out of my house, Jim." 

"Brian, It won't--" 

"--happen again? Fuck you, Ellison. It shouldn't have happened once. This is my house. This is my fucking life, and you have the nerve to hit me over my own feelings?" 

He swallowed, looking surprised at my hostility. 

"Get out of my house. Now." 

He nodded slowly, and backed towards the door. "Can I...call you?" 

"No." 

"Not tonight, I mean. But maybe in a week or--" 

"No. Not ever." I grabbed him and hauled him towards the door, and he didn't fight me. Which was good, because if he had fought he could have taken me, no problem. I was lucky. Jim wasn't a violent person, not really. But I wasn't sure what brought on that hit, which meant I wasn't sure it wouldn't happen again. 

I may not be the greatest person in the world. I may not be pure and gentle and deserving of the kind of love I want, but I am no one's punching bag. I see battered wives and gay men in my line of work all the time, and I know it's easy to fall into that role. All you have to do is take it the first time, and it's almost impossible to fight it after that. 

I wasn't taking it. 

I opened my door, and a rather unceremoniously tossed Jim Ellison out onto the street. I slammed the door hard enough for him to know he wasn't welcome anymore, ever, and then I went to get some ice for my face. 

* * *

I think it's pretty safe to say after everything that's happened that Jim and I just weren't meant to be. He loved Blair, and that made him hate me so much he hit me. He resented me, and I couldn't apologize for not being Sandburg, so we were incompatible. 

These days I don't go out much anymore. Occasionally I'll go with Henri and the boys for some drinks, maybe sometimes I'll hit a bar on my own, just to see if I can be interested by anyone. 

I think Jim and Blair got together. I've been watching them at the station, and they seem closer. They seem...happier. 

It's funny. I guess that after Jim's supply of sex cut off, he got so frustrated he had to tell Blair the truth. 

He seems happy. Really. The way they act together, it's not the way he acted with me. He isn't paranoid, or tense, or hostile. Maybe true love really found him. God knows he doesn't have to resent Blair for being who he is. 

I'm quiet about it. We go on as we always did, talking to each other about business only, and I find I can't talk much to Blair anymore. 

I'm going to stay quiet about what happened, as much for myself as for Jim and Blair's happiness. 

But I'm watching them. If Jim starts behaving the way he did with me, or if Blair ever comes in here with a bruise on his face, my silence is over. 

Until then, if then ever comes, I'll just envy Blair, and love the man that Jim is when he's with his new lover. 

And try to figure out why no one can ever be that way with me. 

* * *

End

 


End file.
